He was sent for Silva but got Q
by themuller
Summary: Being the bitch of a prison kingpin can be taxing. Pairings: Q and Silva; Q and Bond. Implied rape/non-con, implied canon typical violence, but nothing explicit. Angst with happy ending.
1. Chapter 1

_Bugger_ , Q thought. He really had hoped the new guy would beat Silva this time. With a deep sigh, Q got up and went ahead of Silva into their cell to ready himself. Silva's position had been asserted once more, and Q knew that the ensuing sex would be rough and violent. The defeated contender already bore Silva's marks. Tomorrow, Silva's property would do too.

It was not all bad. Mostly, Silva was easy to please and the sex was not always bad, even if Q more often than not would be left to pleasure himself once Silva was done. Then again, some of the guys before Silva would not have allowed him that bit of fun.

No, the problem was that Q had had it with Silva's constant need for affirmation and attention. One would think a super villain like him would be free of self doubts and anxiousness, but nay. Far from it. Then again, using his little fuck boy for his confession booth was safe. Nobody would believe Q in the first place. And he would probably be dead five seconds after spilling any of the 'laments del Silva'. Telling tales about the prison kingpin never went unpunished, as Q had witnessed several times during the last year.

With practiced motions Q divested himself of his prison suit, cleaned and prepared himself. He lay down in the bottom bunk, arse propped up on the pillow, arms stretched out in front of him with his hands holding on to the metal bar that made it for the head board. Silva loved to tie him up, leaving Q utterly helpless and exposed if some of the other prisoners or–God forbid–one of the guards opened the cell door. They would take advantage of him, sometimes even be invited to by Silva–as a 'thank you' for received favours. That was probably the part, Q hated most about his situation. Being used as a gift, presented or passed around to other prisoners or guards for their pleasure. And he better did his best to do so–anything less than positive feedback would result in a harsh disciplining by Silva.

This time, though, Q was sure that Silva would want him all for himself. He would need to reassure his inflated ego by parading a limping Q sporting visible bite marks the next few days. With another deep sigh, Q flexed his muscles, controlled his breathing, and forced himself to relax as Silva entered the cell, followed by the loud cheers from their fellow inmates. Time to close his eyes and let his mind wander to better places.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sorry, M, but shouldn't this be a job for MI5?"

Bond was less than pleased with being put on this mission. Belmarsh was notorious for keeping some of the worst offenders of the country and infiltrating that place was not something, Bond was looking forward to.

"Not up for the job, then, 007?" M's reply was terse. "I'm not going to let them get their hands on one of the best hackers if this attack on Q-branch is anything to go by."

She threw the dossier on the table with an irritated flip of her hands.

"Why would a prisoner try to hack Q-branch?" Bond was intrigued and his apprehension waning fast.

"That, 007, is just one of many questions I would like to ask this person," the last word was said with a venomous glance at the file in front of her. "You are free to do whatever it takes. I want to know what this Raoul Silva is up to. And if he really is responsible for the chaos at Q-branch. Boothroyd is having a melt-down as we speak."

M shook her head, heaving a sigh.

"He's too old for these kinds of shenanigans," she added quietly.

Bond cleared his throat, nodded at M as she looked up, and left the room, closing the door silently behind him. HMS Prison Belmarsh it was, then.

It was an epic fight. The new guy, blond with cold blue eyes, had been asking for it from the moment of his arrival. Silva was still riding his high from his latest victory; he was still showing off Q's marks; and Silva was practically vibrating with the itch to put this newcomer in his place. It took a few days before everything was set up, the guards distracted with another kerfuffle in the washing room, while everyone in the know piled together in the yard.

The two opponents were surrounded by Silva's mob, Q kept himself in a safe spot a few feet away from the centre, but overlooking the ongoing from this slightly elevated place. The blond man, Sterling, kept his cool, calm and steady, taunting Silva with a smirk or a small wink. Silva tiptoed around him, feinting an attack or two, before he aimed a sharp jab at Sterling's jaw, followed by a punch to his groin. Or rather, that had been his intention. Before the first hit, Sterling had stepped sideways, letting Silva beat the now empty space. Silva's knee, lifted for the punch was grabbed and pushed further forward and up, smashing Silva to the ground. Q watched how Silva gasped for air, while Sterling just stepped back and resumed his aloof pose.

Q began fidgeting. As much as he dreaded a renewed round of winner's sex with Silva, watching Sterling crush him with little to no effort, clearly taking pleasure in the pain he was causing, even drawing it out as if taking delight in it–Q shuddered at the thought. Sterling had provoked Silva without paying Q a glance. Q had seen the hungry eyes of earlier contenders when they had challenged Silva. He had thought those were bad. But Sterling's indifference towards him was worse. His fidgeting turned into a panicked rhythmic swaying, small movements, barely visible to the men standing in front of him.

The fight went on for ten minutes, probably less. To Q it felt like an eternity, watching Silva getting worn out by his desperate, increasingly uncoordinated strikes, which never really hit their mark. Then, Sterling dealt his first and final blow, knocking Silva's head back, a few drops of blood hitting the nearest onlookers, as Silva's knees buckled and he fell face forward into the dirt.

Sterling glanced at the men, now standing silent, in shock around him. His eyes were like blue ice when they eventually found Q, who stared back at him, terrified out of his mind. Sterling's eyes narrowed and with a brief nod he commanded Q to move. He had won; Q was his now.


	3. Chapter 3

Stumbling rather than walking, Q made his way up to Sterling's cell, only to realise he had to get back to Silva's cell and collect his belongings.

 _Shite_ , he thought desperately. What to do with his one precious possession? The 'gift' from Silva for their one month 'anniversary'? The quotation marks were huge and a deep red in his mind. Not so much a gift, as a way of taking further advantage of Q and his special skillset. For months he had been able to keep it hidden from the guards, but Sterling would find out–no way Q could hide anything before Sterling returned. Would Silva want it back, now that he had lost Q to Sterling?

Q made a despairing sound. No matter what, he had to get his stuff and hope for the best. Sterling had stayed back in the yard, basking in the stunned silence by the other prisoners and their slow recognition of a new leader.

Maybe, Q surmised, maybe I'm lucky. He shook his head. As if, he added grimly, but his steps became determined. He made it to Silva's cell, collected the small box that held his clothes and toiletries, and, making sure he was alone, he flipped his mattress, found the small hole in it and retrieved an item, hidden in a swathe of grey cloth. He placed it at the bottom of his box, put everything back in place and made his way over to the other cell.

His mind was spinning. Already churning through possible hiding places and how to hide the thing without Sterling noticing. His breathing became faster, as he became more and more agitated. This little piece of freedom, as theoretical as it might be, he was bent on defending it whatever the costs. Against Silva and, and against Sterling, this blue eyed monster who could break every bone in his body and cut him open with his bare hands and rip out his intestines and feast on his blood–

He woke up and immediately recoiled from the blue eyes watching him. Banging his head into the wall behind him, his mind went blank for another moment. Then he looked around the room. Grey concrete, a bunk bed, the corner with the toilet and sink making it out for the bathroom–familiar, yet different. Everything was neat and tidy, unlike Silva's cell. The door was closed. Sterling was kneeling in front of him, and he looked–concerned?

"Are you okay?" the voice was soft, expressing the same concern, Q could see in his eyes.

He gave Sterling a puzzled look, before he flinched violently, suddenly remembering the box and the one thing, Sterling was not supposed to know about. His eyes darted around the room, frantically looking for his box, before he realised that he still held it in his hands. Unable to hide his relief, he could see Sterling's look turn suspicious before his face became the blank mask that terrified Q out of his mind.

"You better get up then. Q."

Sterling's nose twitched as he said his name, as if he was less than pleased with it or with the person huddled in front of him. Q clutched the box and closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Failing that, he somehow stood up, and faced Sterling. He put the box down on the floor, his hands trembling, every single fibre in his body screaming at him to run and hide. But standing there, faced with the inevitable, his mind cleared and a new resolve took hold. He took a stance, straightened up, locked his hands at the small of his back, and looked Sterling straight in his eyes. Blue. Icy. Cruel.

"How do you want me?" as if an afterthought, he added "Sir."

The indifferent look in the blue eyes turned slightly intrigued.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes, Bond hated his work. Not the killing or maiming of an enemy–he could find that part disturbingly easy and even satisfying. No, it was the collateral damage he more often than not had to inflict on innocents and bystanders.

After he had made sure that Silva and his goons understood their new place, he had made it back to his cell. Belatedly, he realised that he had other worries than Silva and his goons. The young man who had trailed Silva, clearly, he was just seen as his property and named accordingly; Q, like, as if Silva had sixteen other bitches before him? Bond shook his head. Sometimes, these macho rituals were too ridiculous and meaningless, even for him. With a wry smile he took the stairs up to his cell, expecting 'Q' to be waiting for him.

He was–kind of. Sunken in the middle of the small room, clearly passed out from sheer panic. Bond had seen Q's reaction when he won the fight. While he had to put on a good show of brutality and sadism to discourage anybody else from challenging him, Bond was well aware how it must have looked for someone like Q, who was utterly dependent on the 'protection' from whoever was the leader.

Looking around the empty corridors, Bond closed the door and knelt down in front of Q. His glasses were a bit askew, but he seemed unharmed. Gently holding his head, he felt Q's pulse as it quickened when he regained consciousness. With a deep sigh, Q nuzzled into Bond's hand, still unaware of his surroundings. The violent jerk back against the wall came as soon as Q had opened his eyes and recognised Bond. Nothing unexpected there, and Bond tried to calm him by asking how he felt.

Bond perceived the shift in Q's demeanour when panic became relief as soon as he looked at the small box in his hand. It might be nothing important, but Bond instinctively put on his killer persona, freaking Q out once more. This time, however, Q seemed determined to face whatever Bond would make him endure. That change was profound, as Q transformed himself in front of Bond. Now, the panicked young man stood, resolved and steadfast, ready to face the world and its cruelty. A survivor.

Bond glanced at the box on the cell floor. He would have to check through its contents later. For now, he had to show Q that life as a bitch could hold a few perks of its own.

He commanded him to strip, expecting and receiving a nice little show of firm muscles on a lean body revealed slowly and enticingly to him. The black mop of hair stood in stark contrast to the marble-like skin, a few fading bruises still visible as a reminder from his latest owner. Turning Q around while examining him closely, Bond could find no tattoos or other permanent markings. It left Bond with a strange feeling, as if he had saved Q from a fate worse than–well, worse than what he already had experienced.

He turned Q towards the sink, which Bond had filled with water. Telling him to lean forward on the basin and spreading his legs, Bond could see how Q expected anything but the soft, wet flannel which he used to clean Q slowly and thoroughly. A visible shiver ran through the slender body and Bond grinned when he heard the small sounds Q elicited, seemingly unable to suppress his appreciation of Bond's ministrations.

Satisfied with the result of his efforts, Bond proceeded to lead a pliant Q to the lower bunk, turning him on his back and taking off his glasses. Q lifted a hand as if to stop Bond, but aborted the motion midair with a resigned look in his eyes. Without hesitation, Bond leaned in to kiss Q. It was meant as a reward, but Q flinched before he could stop himself, now looking wide eyed at Bond, breathing fast. Bond drew back a bit, frowning. How long had Q been in this hell hole of a prison? Being used and abused by the other inmates?

Bond leaned closer again, this time keeping eye contact and clearly telegraphing his intent to kiss Q. He was aware of his position, bend over Q, arms resting on each side of his body, crowding him. Also, while Q was stark naked, Bond was still fully dressed. He wanted to avoid right out raping Q, but if he had to, he would force Q to have sex with him. Anything else would compromise his mission at this point.

The first touch of their lips was soft, as Bond tried to soothe Q, humming appreciatively when he reciprocated the kiss, even parted his lips for Bond. Licking and brushing along Q's mouth, Bond continued the gentle caresses down Q's neck, leaving a small trail of saliva and goose bumps in its wake. Lavishing Q's nipples, sucking on each in turn, his tongue played with the small, hardened nubs. With a lick at Q's navel, Bond leaned back, divesting himself from his trousers and pants. Then he took two small satchels from his pocket, ripping one open and spreading its content over his free hand. Lying down beside Q, he reached for his hand and squeezed it slightly. Q had closed his eyes, but tightened his grip in response. With a small smile, Bond kissed Q's belly, then licked down along the path of black, curly hair.

Now, a new kind of tenseness made its appearance. The small sounds from Q became louder, his heaving for air was in harmony with Bond's lips finding their new target. He nuzzled through coarse pubic hair, and found Q's cock hard, its tip glistening with precome. Q was writhing on the sheet, his free hand clutching the rough material, as if trying and spectacularly failing to rein in his arousal. Transfixed, Bond watched every move, catalogued every hitch of breath, purposeful edging Q closer to his climax without pushing him over. Q was whimpering, bucking his hips, as Bond sucked in Q's balls, his lubed fingers brushing along his perineum down towards Q's hole.

Q pushed back against Bond's fingers, when his first digit teased along the pucker. Bond was patient, even as he felt the muscles relax easily, opening up for Bond's explorations. Q sucked in a sharp breath, when Bond brushed over a half healed injury. Bond stopped moving, one finger deep inside Q, and Q's cock sucked halfway into Bond's mouth.

"Please," was all Q managed to whispered, his body trembling, begging for Bond to continue.

And so Bond did. Avoiding the wound, working Q open, relishing the moans when he flicked his fingers along his prostate. He held Q in limbo, a knife's edge away from coming. Q responded beautifully, open and sincere in his need.

Still, Bond was aware of the coercion, he was subjecting Q to.

When he finally sat back and prepared himself, painfully hard by now, Q sobbed, holding on to his hand. Bond shushed him, quietly reassuring him with few words and small touches. Rolling on the condom with one hand, Bond pressed the last lube out of the first satchel, then pushed in. Slowly, even as Q pushed back, spreading his legs further, Bond began to move, easing in, watching for any signs of discomfort. Q began pleading, moving his hand towards his groin but like before abandoning the move half way. Buried deep inside Q, Bond held on to Q's hand, before taking the other as well, pointedly moving both their hands toward Q's straining cock. Now, Bond was breathing hard, holding his own need for release back.

He pressed Q's hand around Q's cock, then his own hand around Q's. Thrusting into Q, simultaneously shoving their hands along Q's cock, it took mere seconds, before both of them climaxed; Q desperately turning his head into the pillow, muffling his shout of release, as Bond came with a quiet groan, tumbling down beside Q, his arm draped around him and holding him close through the last shivers of their orgasms.

When he regained his breath, Q was sound asleep, his features relaxed and at peace. Bond smiled, pressed a chaste kiss to Q's temple, then got up to clean both of them.

He was still just in his shirt, when he pulled the blanket over Q, tucking him in safely. Then, he turned back to the box, beginning to rummage through its contents, eventually finding a clothed item at the bottom of it. When he took it, Q sat up, searching and finding his glasses. Putting them on, he looked at Bond, the fear back in his eyes.

"No!"


	5. Chapter 5

Bond had expected Q to jump him. Instead he just sat paralysed on the bed, staring at him with pleading eyes. In a split second Bond made up his mind. Q knew Silva better than anybody else and this might be a chance to gain his trust. When he took a step towards the bed, Q began to tremble. Bond had to work hard to suppress his anger. It was obvious Q expected some kind of physical punishment. Someone was going to pay for what had been done to this man, Bond promised himself silently. For now, he had to show Q that he wasn't a threat to him.

He sat down beside Q, and presented the package to him.

"What is this?"

He kept his voice low and calm, a small smile on his face.

Q swallowed, looking from Bond to the outstretched hand, unsure how to proceed. Bond waited patiently. Then, Q reached forward, his hand shaking as if he still expected Bond to snatch the thing away from him. When he finally grabbed it, he sighed audibly.

"Well?"

Slowly Q began unwrapping the cloth and a small mobile phone appeared. Or rather, what had been a phone once. Now, the plastic cage had been opened and several wires stuck out, soldered on to external circuit boards.

"Is that a Nokia?" Bond looked disbelieving at the parts.

"It was originally. Very sturdy phone. I made some modifications. It runs on a battery if you can't use a power outlet," Q began explaining, as he was connecting the different parts while glancing at the closed door every now and then.

He got up and walked over to the only power socket in the cell, now almost eager and totally oblivious to the fact that he was stark naked. Bond appreciated the sight in front of him, but dutifully lifted his eyes up when Q turned and walked back to the bed, sitting down cross-legged. He nudged closer to Bond, the phone with its attachments spread out over his lap. Being fully engrossed in powering the thing up and explaining every single step to him, Q even ceased to check the door. By now, Bond cursed his missing intel on Q. How could the boffins have missed this when they had researched Silva? He was even named like their branch, bloody idiots.

"You made this? Not Silva?"

Q stopped pushing the small buttons of the phone's keypad and looked at Bond with a disapproving frown.

"Silva? He would probably fry himself if he tried to use a toaster."

Q shook his head, then continued to work on the device.

"That's not what I've heard," Bond deliberately goaded Q, trying to get him talking.

Q huffed, never taking his eyes from the small display.

"He's damn good at pretending," Q said derisive, then added quietly "and make other people do the work for him. He won't be pleased about this."

Q indicated the keypad. He was biting his lower lip, still concentrating on the small digits and commands being written on the screen.

"Why?"

Q fell silent, even stopped moving. Bond watched as Q's eyes became distant, half closed, a deep frown formed on his forehead. The frown became even deeper, before he suddenly opened his eyes wide and looked at Bond with a whole new expression on his face. Surprise, incredulity, but also–hope?

"You were sent here."

It was a declaration, not a question. Now, it was Bond's turn to frown.

"I managed to get in, didn't I?" Q sounded very pleased with himself.

"Probably caused a lot of havoc as well. Sorry for that, but you people were so slow on the uptake," he added thoughtfully.

"How?" was all Bond was able to mumble, trying to understand what just happened.

"Look, Silva wanted to break into MI6. Never told me why, but I got the phone from him and a clear order to make it work or else…" Q's voice trailed of.

He shuddered visibly. Without thinking, Bond placed his arm around him, drawing him close. There was no resistance from Q.

"I think, I've figured out what he was trying to do. He had gotten one of the other hackers to programme a virus–nasty thing, really bad stuff."

Bond had regained some kind of composure, and tried to comprehend what Q was telling him. Q sighed.

"He had an 'accident' when the programme was finished," Q fell silent for a moment.

"Would probably also have happened to me, if I had followed through with his orders. But," for the first time since Bond had met Q, he smiled a genuine, wide smile, "but you came. So you guys must have stopped the virus."

Q turned and looked expectantly at Bond, who was at a loss for words.

"Uhm. I don't think they even know about any virus."


	6. Chapter 6

Q gaped at Bond, who shrugged helplessly.

"How can you not know about the virus?"

It was said in pure exasperation.

"How? I put out so many clues. Like bread crumps for you people to follow!"

Q was standing now, the modified phone lying forgotten on the bed, continuing to update and retrieve information if its screen was anything to go by. Q obviously couldn't care less.

"What kind of idiots do you employ in your IT devision? Your Research and Development department? For God's sake, I named myself after Q-branch, because I thought you people were the smartest in town."

Q was pacing the room, his agitation needed release. To be honest, Bond himself had a few choice words to deliver to Boothroyd and his minions, once he was back at MI6; their sloppy intel on Silva would just be the beginning.

Q had stopped, trying to catch his breath as he began to gather his clothes and–sadly, Bond thought–put them on.

"Since we are talking about names," Bond said in an attempt to change the subject, "I'm Bond, James Bond."

"You are Bond? The James Bond?"

Q plumped down on the floor, almost smacking his head against the wall once more.

"Great, they sent you here instead of helping–Christ! They really don't know what's going on, do they?"

Well, since Bond had no idea what was going on, his best guess was that Boothroyd and M didn't know either. Q sat in silence, shaking his head every now and then, his arms resting on his knees.

"What's your real name, then?"

"Really? That's on your mind right now?"

Q sighed.

"Can't believe your priorities. I'm John Smith."

Bond smiled at that.

"What?"

"That's your name?"

"As if I haven't heard that one before. Ha, Ha. And before you ask the next obvious question, I'm in here for hacking. Surprise! And no, I'm not innocent, I am a whistleblower and those kind of people need to be put away for several years if they don't manage to escape to Russia or some embassy. Bloody unfair."

Q fell silent again. Though, this time he looked defeated. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed.

"What did you do?"

Bond needed to know. If Q was telling the truth about Silva and the virus, he might become a valuable asset for MI6.

"Told them how easy it was to break into MI5's 'high security' system." Q indicated the quotation marks with his fingers and a huff. "When they didn't listen, I did it, changed a few of their files and created a new file, me as a new MI5 agent, pictures, CV, the whole thing, including my address and phone number."

More head-shaking.

"Took them two weeks to realise I'd even been there. And one more week to find me."

Q looked up at Bond.

"The trial lasted one hour. I never got to explain myself. Put away for five years with severe restrictions on access to any kind of electronic devices."

Q waved a hand at the phone on the bed.

"Can't even enforce their own stupid rules in a 'high security' prison."

Bond grinned. That sounded more like his kind of guy.

"So, Q–or should I say John?"

"I prefer Q." then, with a self-deprecating smile, Q added, "I might have been a virgin, when I entered this place, but I had absolute no illusions about what was going to happen to me. I still don't get it. Why they think it's a good idea to put hackers and IT savvy people together with terrorists and the like."

In the silence that followed, once more Bond had to suppress his anger. He was going to get Q out of here–and he would make damn sure, that Silva and whoever else had laid a hand on Q would get what they deserved. And MI5, well, that part he would gladly leave to M. She was known for her political viciousness.

"Do you know what Silva is planning? What this virus is meant to do?"

Q grinned. He pushed his glasses in place on his nose.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Q got up and sat back on the bed, the modified phone between him and Bond.

"The virus is only a small part of a much larger operation, Silva has been planning for years. Something to do with the head of MI6."


	7. Chapter 7

"Silva is planning an attack on MI6. Some of this is already underway as we speak."

Q had taken the phone and was scrolling through the incomprehensible list of texts and numbers. Bond was leaning back against the wall, stretching his legs on the narrow bed. With what sounded like a happy little sigh, Q leaned into him again, seeking the physical contact Bond so freely provided.

"Silva wants to get his hands on a hard drive with information on your undercover agents. Why would MI6 think that's a good idea to have all of this on a hard drive in the first place?"

Bond just shrugged his shoulders. He might have tried to explain about their old quartermaster being a great tinkerer but less into this new world of online spaces or cloud archives.

"We're probably just some old battleships in need of an upgrade," Bond murmured. "Then again, being in the field, what good would a Facebook account do for me?"

"For one thing, you might find useful information of your target's whereabouts," Q answered while keeping on going through the information provided on the small screen.

"Do you know a Ronson? Currently deployed to," Q frowned, trying to decipher another part of the message, "Istanbul?"

"Sebastian? Sebastian Ronson?"

Now it was Bond's turn to jump up and begin pacing the cell.

"You know him?"

Q had adjusted his position after Bond had abandoned the bed. He followed Bond with sad eyes, a half smile on his face.

"You need to get out of here. I told you it was stupid of them to send you here in the first place! You should be in Istanbul, as a back up or something."

"What else do you know?"

Bond had come to a standstill in front of Q, who frowned. He must have sensed the change in Bond. But this time, Q didn't flinch, instead he began to relate all, he actually knew about Silva's plan.

"I know Silva wants the hard drive as a means of extortion. Also, the virus, I've–well, the virus in MI6's system, when it's activated, it will open all doors. I don't know what good that will do, but it will open everything that is locked electronically. Every electronic lock, that is even remotely connected to MI6's system."

"And you know for certain Ronson is in Istanbul. With the hard drive?"

"He–it looks like, he was undercover, infiltrating Silva's organisation. I'd no idea it's this huge."

Q tapped on a few keys, then looked up at Bond.

"Ronson is your friend, isn't he?" Q asked subdued.

"Yes."

Bond answered with more fervour than needed. The look on Q's face gave Bond pause.

"Look, Q. More than once, I've been told that I'm expendable. That any agent is. That the mission always comes first. And that's how agents work. But," Bond stopped, trying to find the right words. "But Ronson, Sebastian is a fellow agent. We're friends, we've been through a lot together, always had each others back. If he was sent to Istanbul and Q-branch cocked up his intel like they did with me–it won't just be Silva who's going to pay."

Bond was furious, but he knew how to rein in his temper, how to turn his anger into a cold, deadly weapon. Right now, he needed a plan. And help. From someone he could trust. He looked at Q and wondered, if he would regret his choice.

"You're right. I need to get out of here. And you too."

Q shook his head, the sad smile firmly in place.

"I can't leave. Silva would know something is going on."

"You can't stay! Silva will kill you!"

"James," Q was sitting up, looking at Bond like he was reasoning with a child. "If I leave, Silva will know he is compromised. Also, we only know part of his plan. As it is, you'll be taken to another facility due to your violent attack on Silva. I'll be crawling back to Silva. He'll probably take me back. He still needs me."

Q shuddered.

"Probably," Bond growled. "Including a round of punishment for having betrayed him."

Q looked at Bond with large, innocent eyes.

"Me? Betray him? To someone I've only known for a couple of hours? Who raped me repeatedly and beat me up?"

There was a prolonged silence between the two men. Bond watched Q, at first wondering if Q knew what his suggestion entailed. When Q gave a small nod, Bond had to clear his throat.

"Just, just don't make it hurt too much, if you can," Q said meekly. "You know, make it look worse than it actually is?"


	8. Chapter 8

It was the first time Bond could recall, that he had to force himself to hit someone. He knew how to inflict pain that would hardly leave a trace, and he knew how to make a wound look spectacularly bad and bloody. A split lip, a cut eyebrow, and blood would flow in copious amounts. But a rape would leave open wounds in much more intimate and delicate places. In the end, Q more or less ordered Bond where and how to hit, grab, and stab him. Leaving him bloodied and bruised, the sheets stained red, and the cell looking like a slaughter house.

Bond left the room, leaving Q behind, the door open. Like a psychopathic killer, Bond went back to the courtyard, looking for his next victim. His expression dispassionate, he was in fact anxiously waiting for the alarm to go off or at least some of the guards to come and take him down. It felt like hours before five guards surrounded and handcuffed him, dragging him back into the building. Tanner was waiting for him with a transfer order.

M must have gotten the mail, Q had sent before they had wrapped the phone up and hidden it in his box once again. Sitting in the back of an anonymous van, handcuffed, and a guard sat in front of him, Bond felt like it was a lifetime since he had left Q lying in his own blood back in the cell. It took another half hour before they had reached MI6.

As furious as M was about an apparent failure of the mission since Bond didn't bring back Silva or had send any news on him, Bond's own fury had her silenced in mere seconds. When he had finished his brief report, the room fell eerily quiet.

M cleared her throat.

"Are you telling me," she began, stopped and took a deep breathe. "Are you telling me, Boothroyd and the whole of Q-branch missed out on noticing a major security breach? From a prison? By a prisoner?"

Bond just nodded.

"I'll have Moneypenny getting you ready for Istanbul."

"I want Q fitted with the comms and free access to our system."

M sent Bond a wary look, contemplating him, before she answered.

"You don't trust easily."

"No."

Bond was not going to explain himself. M knew him well enough not to question him further.

"We could get this Q out of prison," she suggested.

"Negative. Silva will be spooked. And Q might figure out more about his plans, if he stays close."

Bond refused to show his unease about leaving Q alone and exposed, but M did indeed know him well, too well.

"Moneypenny or Tanner?"

Bond wasn't even surprised by the question. He thought a moment.

"Moneypenny. If things turn violent, she'll be the better option."

"Moneypenny it is. I'll have her over to the prison as soon as she's finished with you."

Bond gave another nod, then turned to leave.

"007!"

He stopped, and looked back at M.

"Bring Ronson back alive. He's been undercover and incommunicado for more than a month." If she was worried, she didn't let it show. "Ronson might know more about Silva's plan than Q."

Bond suppressed a brusque answer, just turned and left. He would get Ronson out of Istanbul. With the hard drive. And get Q out of prison. Alive. All of them alive, just this once.

God, Q was tired of waking up in medical. When Bond had left him in the cell, he was barely conscious, which was mostly due the pain and blood-loss paired with barely having had anything to eat and drink for the whole day. He didn't know how long it took for the guards to find him, but he must have passed out some time before that.

He was lying still, eyes closed, cataloguing the different aches and pains in various parts of his body, tasting blood in his mouth. When he finally opened his eyes, he could see a figure sitting besides his bed. Involuntarily, he flinched, even as the figure reached out and put his glasses into his hands. Putting them on, the world became clear–white, bleak. Except. Except for the beautiful woman watching him with a slightly worried look.

"Am I dead? Is this heaven?" Q tried for a joke, but his speech was slurred and even the smallest movement had him wincing.

"Nah, young man, I would say probably the opposite, if your medical journal is anything to go by," the woman answered quite cheerful, too cheerful for Q's taste and the level of pain he was in.

The woman looked around, making sure they were alone, then leaned closer.

"Bond send me. I'm Moneypenny, Eve Moneypenny. I'm your new lawyer, officially commissioned by the Pirate Party."

Q looked disbelieving at her.

"Pirates?"

Moneypenny's smile grew even wider. Definitely an angel, Q thought smiling back, just lacking her wings.


	9. Chapter 9

Q blamed the painkillers for his slow comprehension of what Moneypenny was talking about. Comms, agents, Turkey, secure server, and pirates. That last part kept spinning in his head while Moneypenny tried to explain about Bond's mission and Bond's demand to have him being his guide through the comms.

"Pirates?" Q looked doubtfully at his angel.

"What did they give you? Should I send in a complaint about the painkillers as well?" Moneypenny's smile had turned into a frown, and Q frowned back in sympathy.

"You know," he slurred, "drugging people keeps them pliant. Can't have a riot in medical."

With a certain exasperation, Moneypenny looked around and apparently found what she was looking for: a small tub. She filled it with cold water from the tap and took it back to Q, placing it on the floor besides the bed.

"Sit up!"

Q promptly did, wincing as the pain was flaring through his body despite drugs or painkillers or whatever they had injected into him. He leaned back against the headboard, regaining his breath, while Moneypenny sat the bowl of water into his lap. Q looked at the cold water with growing suspicions.

"You're not–"

"Your glasses!"

Moneypenny's voice broke no argument. Q swallowed, glancing at the now blurry liquid in front of him. Moneypenny went away for a moment, but was right back with something, Q couldn't recognise.

"Okay, one, two and three!"

With a small splash and a gurgled 'No!' Q's head was pushed into the freezing cold water and held down for a few seconds, before Moneypenny pulled him back, Q spluttering and cursing. Then, he felt a soft towel in his face, gentle hands towelling him dry, before his glasses were put back on his nose and he righted them with shivering fingers.

"Better?" Moneypenny asked with a wide, innocent smile.

"What the–"

"Now, now, Q, you better behave and mind your language."

Q glared at Moneypenny, then looked nervously at the tub still placed in his lap and definitely too close for his liking. Moneypenny took pity in him and removed the bowl, before taking out a few boxes from her bag.

"You're a lawyer?" Q asked, his mind finally clearing.

"No, I'm posing as your lawyer. The Pirates Party," Q wanted to ask a question, but Moneypenny lifted her hand to stop him, "a European party which has started a petition to free so-called hackers and other IT-criminals who claimed to be whistleblowers."

"Claimed? For God's sake, I left my address and phone number–which criminal would do a thing like that? And they just don't listen–"

"The Pirate Party wants you, among others, as their poster boy for their petition. Or at least, that's the official explanation."

Q looked doubtful at Moneypenny.

"Q! MI6 wants you. That much was clear even before Bond sussed out who had been foraging in our servers. We just believed it to be Silva."

Q huffed indignantly at that.

"As for now, Bond is on his way to Turkey and if I've understood the mission brief right, you're supposed to help him. And find out something more about Silva and his plan."

Moneypenny opened the boxes and Q felt his heart skip a beat. Electronics! A tablet, small but powerful, microphones, tools, circuit boards. He felt like Christmas had come early! Powering up some items, just touching and turning others, Q was almost forgetting about Moneypenny. A chuckle brought him back to the present, a goofy smile on his face as he looked up.

"It's not often people are this happy about some bits of equipment," Moneypenny said.

"Some bits of equipment?" Q protested. "Consider me a starving man who has been presented a three course meal from a five star restaurant. The things I could do with these."

Q enthusiastically pointed out a few boards and, suddenly worried, looked around for his own box.

"No need to panic. Bond had made sure, your box was brought over here and it is untouched," Moneypenny assured him.

"I'll have to take most of this with me when I leave. We have no way of hiding it for Silva."

"Or the guards," Q pointed out quietly.

"Hm," Moneypenny cleared her throat. "To get back to the mission. Bond was nervous about you getting back to Silva. He's currently in medical as well, we could get you transferred to his room. It would make it easier to keep you both under some kind of surveillance."

Q thought about it, before nodding.

"Yes, that would be a good idea. It will add to authenticity to my cover." He sent Moneypenny a wry smile. "Who knows, Silva might even feel sympathetic–nah, not really."

Q shook his head and flinched.

"Ouch, damn, Bond surely knows how to inflict pain," he said, touching his forehead which sported a large dressing.

"When does Bond arrive in Istanbul? That is, I hope, you guys finally send him there, instead of having him fooling around in a prison?"

Moneypenny smirked.

"He should arrive tomorrow morning, with the first flight. The two of you have been very efficient, considering you met, what, just this morning?"

Q bid his lip. Moneypenny had a point. How did that happen? How did he switch from being close to a panic attack when Silva lost the fight to now working with the government to bring down Silva and his organisation for good? And why did Bond trust him–or was he just using him for the mission? Q frowned. No, that was not what he had sensed when Bond had been with him. Probably better not to pursue this kind of contemplation until some time later. Like, when they had brought Silva down.

"How do we proceed from here?" He asked instead.

"I'll be visiting you at least once a day, or whenever you need me. There will be a lot of information exchange and taking pictures for the Pirate Party," Moneypenny explained with a wink.

"I like them. They have some great ideas," Q responded with a small laugh. "Well, then, better get this thing underway. If I could keep one of these, I might be able to further modify my phone, let Bond listen in on my chats with Silva."

Moneypenny nodded with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"He really likes you, you know. And I can see why."


	10. Chapter 10

Q's newest modification worked wonders. Bond was able to follow his conversation with Silva as if he was sitting together with them. While he was still worried about Q's safety, Silva seemed less interested in punishing Q. In fact, Silva was more upset about MI6 and 'mother' as he continued to call M. Bond was left with a feeling of missing something important, but for now, he had to find Ronson.

Somehow, Q managed to prompt Silva into bragging about his plan, including how to get the hard drive from Ronson. When Bond heard the name 'Patrice' every red alert went up in his mind. MI6 were unable to contact Ronson, who hopefully knew he had been compromised. Bond was relying solely on the information, Q was able to extract from Silva–and what Q himself could find while faking to work for Silva.

When Bond finally touched down in Istanbul, Q had found Ronson's whereabouts. Incredibly, MI6 were still unable to provide any intel for Bond, despite Ronson apparently hiding in one of their own safe houses. Cursing at the incompetence, Bond had to outrun Patrice, Silva's preferred assassin, known widely for his ruthlessness and proficiency–and on the most wanted list of Interpol.

With the sound of Q's exaggerated sighs and whining and Silva's continued bragging and cursing about 'mother' and 'rats', double-crossing and betrayal in his ears, Bond made it in time to partake in the shoot-out between Ronson and Patrice. Ronson had taken a bullet already, and Patrice was about to kill him off, when Bond burst through the doors, taking Patrice out with one shot to the head. Ronson sent Bond a small smile before collapsing, still holding on to the damnable hard drive.

Changing his earpiece, he got in touch with Q-branch, letting them know about results of the mission. Bond cut them off before they had time to ask questions, instead he focussed on helping Ronson.

A few hours later, a dazed Ronson was leaning on to Bond as they boarded the plane back to London.

Bond was furious. The mission had been a success, but Q was still in prison with Silva. While Moneypenny visited daily, M was trying to cut through the hassle and get a release order for Q. Q on the other hand had been asking Moneypenny not to relocate him yet. He was sure, Silva still was up to something.

It took two weeks, before M could sign a transfer order, getting Bond custody of Q. By then, Q had finally sussed out, what Silva's masterplan had been. Silva himself was relocated to a high security cell at MI6.

Both Q and Silva arrived at MI6 with the same van, handcuffed and shackled. They parted ways, Silva droning on about how he soon, very soon would have his revenge; Q subdued and uncertain.

As soon as Silva was out of sight, Bond appeared miraculously in front of Q. The cuffs and shackles were quickly removed.

"Nervous?" Bond asked, having shoved both of them into an empty office and closed the door.

"Shouldn't I?" Q asked, carelessly stripping in front of Bond. "Right now, Silva is exactly where he wants to be. If any of you guys make the slightest mistake, we'll have Ragnarok at our hands."

Suspiciously, Q eyed the bunch of clothes, Bond provided him with.

"You're sure they'll fit?"

Bond smirked at Q, now unabashedly ogling him. Q threw him a glance, then, with a smirk of his own, he stretched out, showing off his slim, firmly muscled body. Turning slowly, he let Bond drink in the sight. Not one single mark was visible on Q's skin, and Bond couldn't hide his relief.

"Fought him off for the past three days," Q answered the unasked question. "Moneypenny did show me a few tricks."

Bond laughed out loud at that. Of course she had.

Q got dressed, the shirt, suit, and shoes fitting perfectly, as Bond had expected. Q had a short, brave fight with the tie, before Bond took pity on him, fixing it with a few, practiced moves.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready," Q answered, squaring his shoulders.

Together, they walked through the corridors and halls of MI6, Bond nodding a greeting at the people they met on their way. Most of them, stopping and turning, were clearly wondering who 007 was escorting up to M's office. Only Moneypenny greeted both of them with her wide smile. Before she could open the door to M's office, Q stepped up to her and hugged her close.

"Thank you," he said quietly, burrowing his face in her dark curly hair.

She hugged him back, holding him close for a few moments, until he was ready to let her go.

"Go, show her!" she whispered to him.

Q cleared his throat, pulled the sleeves of his suit straight and looked back at Bond. He gave a small nod, and Moneypenny opened the door to M's office.

-o–o-

M stood by the window, when Q entered, followed by Bond who closed the heavy door behind them. She didn't turn right away, as if lost in thought. Bond was used to her shenanigans, but he had no idea how Q was going to cope. As resilient as he had been in prison, this was a new ballgame altogether. A sigh, and M eventually turned and looked at her visitors. With a lifted eyebrow, she assessed Q. The ensuing small huff not necessarily approving of him. Q stood still, unflinching, watching her interested but seemingly unimpressed. Bond felt a peculiar pride in Q standing his ground.

"Mr Smith," M finally acknowledged Q, with a nod indicating one of the chairs.

Bond remained standing at ease, besides Q. He hoped his presence would give Q some kind of reassurance. Q leaned back, crossing his legs, and folding his hands loosely in his lap.

"I prefer Q, M'am," Q answered quietly.

M looked annoyed, but let it pass.

"Bond told me, you've found out about Silva's plans," she stated instead, not wasting any more time on niceties.

"Not Silva, M'am, but Tiago, Rodriguez Tiago. If I've understood it correctly, he had been one of your agents, before he presumably was killed by the Chinese?" Q's voice was pleasant and even.

There was no hint of the satisfaction, Bond felt at this revelation. How could Boothroyd and his minions have missed this? However, M blanched, pushed a button on the intercom and ordered Moneypenny to send for Tanner and the files on Tiago.

She drew a deep breath, then sat down in her chair, facing Q.

"What else?"

"The virus, I've told Bond about–I'm sorry, I've–" Q worried his lip.

"Yes, yes, water under the bridge." M waved her hand impatiently. "What about it? What else is Tiago planning?"

"He wanted to get incarcerated here, at MI6. The virus, once activated will open every single electronic lock. Including the high security cell, he is in." Q paused. "The virus activates the moment someone in Q-branch plugs my phone into one of your computers. The phone I modified in prison?"

M looked at Bond, who shrugged his shoulders.

"I told Moneypenny. I hope she has kept it safe?"

Once more, M punched the intercom.

"Moneypenny?"

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Moneypenny entered, Tanner in tow. She had Q's box with her and gave it to Q, who couldn't hide his relief, when he found the phone, still safely wrapped up and hidden away. He cleared his throat and sat up.

"There is one thing more," he said, interrupting M, who was discussing with Tanner about the files.

Tanner looked interested at Q, who smiled back.

"You have a mole. Here. He or she has placed small bombs at strategic places all over this building."

Everyone fell quiet, even M's annoyance changed into right out anger. Bond instinctively stepped closer to Q, scanning the room for anything that might be an explosive device.

"Unfortunately, I've been unable to suss out a name, but I've made a map with the most likely placements of any bombs. It might help in finding the culprit."

Q's voice never faltered, neither did he look away when M stared him down. He unwrapped his phone, powered it up and struck a few keys. Then he smiled at Moneypenny.

"The map's in your mail, Moneypenny."

M looked between Q, Moneypenny, and Bond.

"The three of you, out. Bond, make sure to keep Q safe–and make sure that thing," she pointed at Q's phone, "is kept far away from our system. Moneypenny, the map, and I want you to guard Tiago, make sure no-one gets close. Tanner," M drew in a breath, "you better have everything we know about Tiago!"

M's face was set in stone as she took charge, barking out the commands. Before Bond left, she gave him an appreciative nod, then called for Boothroyd to get to her office.

-o–o-

Bond lead Q down to his car, opening the passenger side door for him. Q sighed when he sat down and pulled the seat belt in place. Bond started the car and pulled out of the parking space. They sat in silence for the drive home to Bond's flat.

Q was biting his lip again, clearly worried about something. Bond too, was worried. During the past weeks, Bond had only had little time to contemplate his relationship with Q. He knew M, and he had no doubt that Q had a future position in Q-branch waiting for him. Boothroyd's failure to alert MI6 to Silva's plan was inexcusable. That would make Q a co-worker, maybe even his supervisor when he was on a mission. Bond would like that. Listening to Q's voice, guiding him. Yes, he most definitely would like that.

And he most certainly would like Q to stay with him. As his partner. The only question was, would Q want them to become partners? Q had never actually agreed to any of the plans, MI6 had made on his behalf. He was still a prisoner, not in charge of his own life. Not free to consent to any of this. They would have that talk, rather sooner than later. Bond was a man of action, and he had made up his mind.

Q was half asleep, when they arrived at the flat and Bond had parked the car. He nudged Q gently awake, then took the infamous box and a large suitcase from the car and lead Q to the lift. The flat was cleaned and tidied, ready for the new occupant. Bond showed Q the kitchen, bathroom, and the small guest room with a single bed. During the whole time, Q hadn't said a word, and when he saw the guest room, his shoulders fell. He was fidgeting with the hem of the suit, looking utterly defeated and alone.

Bond put down the suitcase and turned towards Q. He opened his arms for an embrace and Q let himself fall into it, clutching desperately at Bond's suit, barely holding back his sobs. Bond just held him, let him cry, holding on to him, until the sobs became silent sniffles. Q drew back, lucking flushed and embarrassed.

"Sorry," he whispered hoarsely, waving a hand at Bond's ruined suit.

"Don't worry. I've a few clothes for you in the suitcase. You can change, take a bath, take a nap. I'll be in the living room with tea and sandwiches."

Q nodded, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Bond went back to the kitchen. Half an hour later, Q walked into the living room, dressed in a grey tracksuit, his feet bare and his hair fluffy and wet. He stood in the middle of the room, as if waiting for someone to tell him how to proceed.

Bond stood up from the sofa. He gave Q a hug and a chaste kiss on the head, and Q leaned into him. Both of them sat down, Q nudging closer, keeping the physical contact. Bond poured some tea, indicated milk and sugar and Q just nodded. Q took a sip, closing his eyes and clearly savouring the taste.

"We need to talk," Bond said quietly.

Q responded with a small sound, a bit scared, a bit fatalistic.

"I would like you to stay with me, here, as my partner," Bond explained, taking the bull by the horns. "I know, you're tired. You need rest, probably a talk or two with psych. I mean, I practically raped you, beat you up–"

Bond stopped, and looked nervously at Q. Q looked at him with wide eyes, his fingers tightening around his mug.

"Could you," Q began, then swallowed, "could you please repeat the first thing, you said?"

Bond grinned.

"I would like you to stay with me?" he dutifully reiterated, his grin widening as Q just nodded with a dazed look in his eyes.

"You mean it?" he whispered.

"Yes."

Bond leaned into Q and kissed him on his lips, taking care not to spill any tea or disturb Q's glasses. Q responded, slowly, but when Bond wanted to withdraw, Q followed him, catching his lips, licking and sucking on them. The small sounds he made drove straight to Bond's groin. He took hold of Q's mug with his free hand, and put it on the coffee table, then he lay down, pulling Q on top of him. They stayed like that, kissing and cuddling. Q basking in the warmth and gentle touches Bond provided; Bond feeling an emotional grounding, his life clicking in place, as if an empty slot finally was filled.

Q murmured something unintelligible into Bond's shoulder.

"Hmm?" Bond pushed Q gently to the side, trapping him between the back of the sofa and his body.

"The sex, you know, in the cell," Q was biting his lip again, and Bond pushed himself a bit further away, worried.

"Yes?"

"I wanted it."

"You had no way to consent, Q," Bond sighed.

"No, I know, but," Q huffed. "James. I, uhm. I really liked it. Would you–could we do it again? Like, soon?"

Bond hugged him tight.

"Sure, Q. Whenever you like."


End file.
